


Witchers Don't Get Sick

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Multi, Papa Vesemir, Puppy Piles, Sick Character, Winter At Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: Witchers didn't get sick. It was impossible after the trials made them immune to all disease and even most life threatening injuries. Witchers didn't get the flu, the mumps, or even the large number of terrible venereal diseases that could ravage an army. It was one of the very few upsides of being a mutant.But that didn't mean they couldn't get run down. Too little food, too little sleep, too many injuries that slow the healing down a bit. That's how Lambert had to travel to Kaer Morhen that year: exhausted, bruised, hungry.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 56
Kudos: 341





	Witchers Don't Get Sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neffectual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/gifts).



> For the lovely Neffectual, who's feeling a bit under the weather and asked for a sick fic to make them feel better, so please enjoy this cozy Lambert getting taken care of by everyone we know and love.

Witchers didn't get sick. It was impossible after the trials made them immune to all disease and even most life threatening injuries. Witchers didn't get the flu, the mumps, or even the large number of terrible venereal diseases that could ravage an army. It was one of the very few upsides of being a mutant.

But that didn't mean they couldn't get run down. Too little food, too little sleep, too many injuries that slow the healing down a bit. That's how Lambert had to travel to Kaer Morhen that year: exhausted, bruised, hungry. Aiden offered to meet up so they could travel together, but Lambert didn't have enough coin for an inn while he waited for him to finish his contract, so he decided to push himself like an _idiot_.

They must've seen him on the mountain because as soon as Lambert reached the gates, four strong hands pulled him inside, a nose at his neck, a warm mouth over his, tongue licking inside to check on him. Once Geralt and Eskel had licked and sniffed their fill (both frowning when they couldn't find an obvious source for Lambert's sallow complexion) Jaskier muscled his way through.

He frowned as well, hand on Lambert's forehead. “You're not feverish...”

“Everything aches,” was all he had to say before they whisked him inside, up to Geralt's room where the fire already roared in the grate. The bed smelled like the others and Lambert fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He didn't give a thought to his clothes and boots, they'd take care of it... take care of him.

* * *

Witchers did not get sick, but Vesemir checked on him just in case, urging Lambert to open his eyes, his mouth, checking his ears, anywhere an unknown toxin might creep in. Witchers did not get sick, but some of the more deadly fungus could give them a hell of a headache, or something that felt like a hang over multiplied. “I'm just run down,” Lambert said as he leaned in to the touch.

Vesemir's inspecting hands became his stroking hands as he trailed soft touches behind Lambert's ears, scritching lightly. “It happens. No fooling around—make sure you rest.”

Lambert took the advice and closed his eyes, purring softly when Vesemir continued to scratch at his hair, old fingers brushing behind his ears.

Over the next few days, Lambert was never alone. His head was in someone's lap, fingers or a brush carding through his hair; Jaskier knelt by the bed with some hardy stew, lifting the spoon to his lips. Geralt and Eskel fed him strips of raw meat whenever Jaskier was out of the room, they needed to consume the iron-rich meat but didn't like to do it in front of their soft bard... “You need it,” Eskel whispered. He was right, Lambert's aches lessened with the extra iron, his body getting exactly what it needed for the first time in too long.

At night, they all crawled into the bed, sleeping with him. While normally they'd put Jaskier in the middle, sharing their warmth with the fragile human, now Lambert couldn't get Geralt and Eskel off of him if he wanted. Which he did not. He wasn't a complete invalid, he was still strong enough to get up, take care of his needs and all that, even made it down to the hot springs once. But every time he turned back to the bed, he found big, sad eyes watching him, calling him back.

Once, he woke up with his head in Vesemir's lap, the same brush Eskel used to brush his hair when he fell asleep now in Vesemir's hands. “They're outside, western wall took a beating this year, needs repairs.” Lambert's heart sank. He wasn't picking up his slack, any other year, he'd be out there with them, seeing how many pieces of straw he could hide in Geralt's hair before he noticed. Instead, he was in bed, sleeping like a lump.

Almost as if he could hear Lambert's thoughts, Vesemir sighed. “We all have bad years, pup. You don't begrudge the others when the world wears them down, do you?”

“No,” Lambert whispered, it was the first word he'd said in a while.

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

Lambert closed his eyes again, focusing on the brush moving through his hair, the tingles it sent down his spine, Vesemir's other hand rubbing up and down over his shoulder, so soothing...

* * *

Aiden arrived two days later and launched himself into the bed, covering Lambert and licking his face and hair. “Fuck, I'm sorry. I should've skipped that contract, should've—”

“It's fine, you're here now.” Lambert let Aiden finish cleaning him (fucking Cats...) before Jaskier chased him away to have a proper bath. Lambert woke again to find Aiden fresh from the hot springs now curled around him, fingers scratching behind his ears. The rumbling purr from the Cat soothed away a few more of Lambert's aches.

It took a few days for Lambert to feel like himself again. A few days of nails lightly scratching his scalp, behind his ears and down his neck, a few days of lounging in a pile of blankets and furs, wrapped around Geralt as Eskel brushed their hair, Aiden dozing at the foot of the bed.

One morning—he knew it was early morning because everyone was asleep with him—he woke up and stretched, sighing happily when he found all his aches and pains finally gone. Wiggling out of Geralt's death hold, Lambert stretched farther, arching his back, pointing his toes. “Ugh, fuck...” he moaned.

Aiden startled awake first. “What's wrong? I can get—something...” Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, understanding dawned when he saw Lambert stretching out, gloriously naked, hard muscles flexing. Aiden licked his lips and crawled closer.

He bumped Geralt in his attempts to get Lambert back into his arms and the other Wolves woke, Geralt elbowing Eskel awake too. Jaskier slept on for another moment, but soon they were all moving and wiggling too much for even human senses to ignore. Blue eyes fluttered open and a soft breath pushed between plump lips. “Oh my... feeling better are we?”

With Aiden spooned up behind him, Eskel between his legs, and Geralt holding his head in his lap, Lambert was, once again, quite well seen to. Hands that had spent the last week feeding and threading through Lambert's hair now pulled and stroked, lips kissed with heat and intent.

He was feeling better, and as soon as Vesemir saw, he'd pile on the chores. Lambert was ready for it, the backbreaking work of securing their home for yet another winter, but one last morning of softness and care would do them all good, especially now that he felt well enough to return those heated kisses.

A slick finger circled his hole and Lambert hissed, “Yes, yes please.” Jaskier swallowed down the rest of his noises with kisses as Aiden started thrusting, slow at first, then building a quicker pace. “Harder,” he grunted. Lambert wasn't fucking fragile, even though they spent the last days handling him like spun sugar.

Oh yes, he was ready to grunt, and bite, and fuck hard. He wanted all of it, all of them, and should Eskel get run down next year, Lambert would gladly hand feed him. Because that's what they did, they fucking took care of each other.

Even if Witchers didn't actually need it...

Even if they really did.


End file.
